


Unspoken Desire

by shenko464



Series: Tales of the Silver Lilies and the White Wolf [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, First Kiss, First Time Bottoming, First Time Topping, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Sub Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:15:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22636594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shenko464/pseuds/shenko464
Summary: Geralt gets hurt fighting a fiend that is attacking  Roche and his unit. Unfortunately, his wounds from his previous fight with the fiend at Crookback swamp causes him to collapse at the end of the fight. Roche takes care of him.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Vernon Roche, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Vernon Roche
Series: Tales of the Silver Lilies and the White Wolf [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1628383
Comments: 6
Kudos: 117





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's a terrible injustice that there's so few Witchers fanfic out there, let alone about this awesome bromance between Geralt of Rivia and Vernon Roche.
> 
> So enjoy this pairing! I have. :D

He really should have taken those potions like he planned to. However, right as he began to start sit down and start meditating, sounds of metal clashing against flesh and men screaming in agony in their death throes reached his ears.

While he didn’t really want to get up, having just completed a contract with a fiend, a familiar voice forced him into action. 

“Plough it all, pull back! Pull back now!”

_What is Vernon doing here?_

Then an all too familiar screech ripped through the cold wind. He had just come back defeating such an awful creature back in the swamps of Velen and it was only thanks to his potions that he hadn’t keeled over after the fight.

However, potions could only do so much and the ache set in his very bones began to encroach in his senses. 

With a tired sigh, Geralt pulled out two small bottles from his bag and uncorked them. He winced and almost gagged as the bitter liquids swept through his mouth, down his already slicked throat and body. He was pushing his luck, having already just recovered from downing four toxins to get through his previous battle with a fiend. Now, he has to fight another. 

Another scream rent through the air and it prompted him into action when another familiar voice cried out: “Vernon!”

Damn, he hopes he’s not too late. Roach whinnied nervously and started to paw at the ground in fear. Her eyes would have rolled around in fear were it not for the fear blinders blocking her view. However, her sense of smell, well, Geralt couldn’t very well block that too. 

The potions immediately started working and the exhaustion in his muscles faded away. His vigor renewed, Geralt pushed himself to race to where the fighting was.

It wasn’t as horrific as Geralt imagined it to be, especially when it concerned the fiends. Monstrous and powerful, the creature looked like it came from a nightmare. The creature’s goat-looking head looked comically too small for its gigantic body of muscles and bones. Its talons, long and wickedly sharp, could easily tear through flesh like butter. Armor might slow it down and it wasn’t a sure defense as some of its victims found out. 

“Geralt!” Ves shouted out as she continued firing arrows ahead of them.

While sharp enough to cut into the fiend’s flesh, the creature would be too strong to be let down by a few metal arrows. 

“Where’s Vernon?” Geralt asked immediately and he cursed for letting his weakness for the Commander of the Blue Stripes be known. Luckily Ves was too preoccupied with the fiend to notice how slightly panicked the witcher’s voice. 

“He’s down there, fightin’ whatever that fuckin’ thing is!”

“What?! He can’t fight that thing!” Geralt cursed and dashed to the area where Ves’ arrows flew into before Ves could shout at him. 

The fighting grew louder and louder as he approached it and his heart almost jumped out of his chest when he saw several men, both uniformed in blue and black, fighting the beast. One of them was shouting something at the men in blue, his sword flashing quickly in the dusk, before narrowly ducking a swipe of the fiend’s tail and then rolling away to avoid the fiend’s charge. 

“Vernon! Run!” Geralt shouted at the Temerian Commander, pulling out his silver sword.

As he quickly fished out a small vial of dark oil, he brought it to this mouth and used his teeth to uncork the bottle. The thick liquid spilled unto the sword and the smell of it made him want to puke but he swallowed the nausea down.

“Go!” Geralt pushed Hortensio out of the way, using his sword to block a wickedly looking set of talons. The short, stocky man could only nod in thankfulness and took no time in fleeing the fight that was clearly not for him. 

The men in black provided the necessary distraction for all the men in blue to escape the fight but Vernon, the stubborn man that he is, refused to leave the fight when he could. 

While the Temerian no doubt could hold his own in a fight with men, the man was nothing compared to the beast that ravaged the swamps and bogs. It easily tore through the Nilfgaardians, who wore heavy armor and were heavily disciplined. Now, now it had its dark amber eyes set on the lone Temerian figure who still wouldn’t fuckin’ run when he was supposed.

The ground shook beneath him, shaking up the trees and displacing loose rocks all around him. _Shit, the fiend’s going to hypnotize him! No choice now._ His hand quickly fished out a small circular globe with a piece of twine going out of one end. 

“Igni,” Geralt whispered and sparks flew out of his finger and unto the piece of twine. Without hesitation for himself, he threw the bomb at the fiend and it exploded in impact just as the fiend almost finished his hypnosis on Vernon, who merely swayed in place and clutched at his temples in response. The impact set loose shards of shrapnel that tore into both beast and the witcher. Such physical force pushed the fiend to the side and Geralt gasped in agony as slivers of silver pierced his arms and legs. He had run out of stamina with that last igni and couldn’t raise his quen shield to block the incoming projectiles. He quickly downed another potion, one that rendered his nerves numb so he could push through to the end. 

The fiend laid on its side, splinters of silver sticking out of its side and face. Blood pooled heavily out of a gash in its side and Geralt hoped that the bomb weakened the monster enough to either force it to flee or be easier enough to kill at least. 

The last potion pushed through the upper threshold his body could take and his chest tightened as it became harder and harder to breathe. _No! Gotta…gotta push through…Vernon!_

He stumbled unto his feet and would have fallen over had he not planted his silver sword into the ground. Light brown ooze still glistened on the intricately-crafted blade. Good. There was still time to use the relict oil. 

The forest swam in front of him, the monster’s supine form almost blurring into the encroaching darkness that seeped at the edge of his vision. 

The fiend growled in agony and it tried to lash out its tail only to find it having been cut off by the silver splinters. 

“Sorry…” Geralt’s voice rasped and he stood over the creature, facing it eye to eye. “Gotta live too…”

He would have shown mercy to the creature, for there were few in numbers nowadays but the fiend had encroached too closely to man. It clearly abandoned its swampy lair for something and for what, Geralt, would never know.

Bleeding hands clasped around the hilt of his weapon and he plunged it into the creature’s head, ending its life as cleanly as he could. 

The fiend’s growls ended suddenly and Geralt pulled out his sword only to stumble down and collapse unto the beast’s neck. 

For it still being the day, it was quite dark and shadows chased further into his vision.

“Geralt…Geralt…I’ve got you…you’re going…” a voice called out to him and the Temerian’s face swam into his view. Gentle brown eyes gazed at him and he wanted to reach out to him, to ensure that he was real and not some hallucinogen brought about from having imbibed too many potions.  


_He’s alive…_ was Geralt’s last thought before darkness consumed him.


	2. Chapter 2

If Vernon wasn’t a religious man in the past, he suddenly found himself to be one now. His men had just been attacked by a Nilfgaardian patrol and it was by a twist of fate that a fiend had crashed into the fighting scene.

Having learned from Geralt that fiends were monsters that even he had trouble fighting, the Temerian Commander ordered his men back and he only stayed behind to provide his men cover. Hortensio had muttered something about a silver-haired man before the archer let loose an arrow into the fiend’s hide. It hit the beast in the side but only a little bit and the slight injury merely angered the monster into a murderous frenzy. 

What happened next was all a blur until it was virtually over. Dark amber eyes had stared into his and he couldn’t move a muscle, couldn’t really see anything except for those demonic orbs. Then, as quickly as it occurred, he found himself able to move and a headache gathered in his temples. 

“Fuck….what was that?”

The cobwebs cleared enough for him to hear a strained voice. 

“Sorry.”

His brown eyes espied a silver-maned man standing so close to the downed beast, the silver sword raised above the beast’s head. 

“Gotta live too…” Geralt’s voice sounded weak and raspy, as if the man was also dying just like the beast was. 

Vernon stumbled a little bit and he caught himself on the nearest trunk, trying to get his bearings. Deep breaths, Vernon. Deep breaths to clear your head… a deep voice told.  
And he deliberately slowed down his breathing and focused on the here and now. 

His body was bruised but nothing that he couldn’t handle, thanks to his years of secret service to Temeria. Having finally cleared his head, he stood up and found his footing sure and capable. 

It was just as well that he could see and think better for his friend decided to fall unceremoniously on top of the fallen creature. 

“Geralt!” He rushed to the beast and almost wanted to gag at the stench that came with any monsters of the swamp. It reeked of filth and decay but the creature wasn’t his main concern.

The witcher in question looked dead for a split second. Blood pooled all around the fallen man and creature, to the point where Vernon couldn’t tell which blood belonged to whom. It was all thick and red, the smell of iron hanging heavily in the air to where he could almost taste it. 

“Damn it, Geralt. Why’d you have to wear light armor?” Vernon cursed underneath his breath and his hands trembled when he slowly but carefully pulled the witcher off the dead beast. His friend didn’t deserve to lay on such a monstrosity. 

The witcher made no sound except for an occasional moan as the Temerian gingerly pulled him to rest next to one of the few surviving trees. 

Cat slitted eyes peered at him through half-closed lids as Vernon shouted for Ves and he gasped at the black tendrils crawling underneath the man’s skin. 

“Geralt…Geralt…I’ve got you…you’re going to be ok,” He whispered to the man and he saw a trembling hand reach out to him, as if the man couldn’t believe he was physically here. To set him at ease, he clasped the hand in his own and it was then that those golden eyes slipped shut and a breath seemed to exhale out of him. 

“No…no…no no! Geralt! Geralt!” Vernon clutched at the witcher’s face and he gasped as the black tendrils became darker and impossibly thicker underneath the man’s pale skin.  
He remembered hearing Geralt say something about this…what was it….what was it? 

Think! Think!

_“Geralt, you honestly look like shit,” Vernon chastised the witcher as he helped him sit down on his cot._

_“Shut up, Vernon. I know I look worse than a dead man. Just…hmm…give me my bag please…” Geralt had motioned with his hand to the side of the cot and Vernon, with another smartass comment ready on his lips, merely grunted in agreement and fetched the bag.  
Geralt had fished out a strange looking vial out of his satchel. The clear liquid swished around in the tiny vial and Geralt, with the help from Vernon, drank down its contents. _

_“What was that? Some potion of yours?” Vernon had asked, genuinely curious about how these potions help Geralt survive his many bouts with both monsters and men._

_“White honey. It helps clear out any toxins and cancels any effects of previous potions that I drank.”_

_“Wouldn’t you feel worse after that? Your injuries…”_

_“would be nothing if I’m dead.” Geralt wryly answered. “If I drink too much, it’ll shut down my body and I’ll die.”_

Fuck, that’s what he needs, Vernon thought and he prayed to any gods who would listen that Geralt had such a vial already prepared. His hands opened the satchel that hung off Geralt’s side belt and clear yellow liquid was the first thing he saw. Etched into the bottle, as if by magic, was the writing of 'white honey.'

“Thank fuck,” Vernon said and he pried open the stopper.

The Temerian almost let out another curse as the contents spilled a little bit over the side in his haste to get it open. 

Geralt was in no shape to swallow it on his own and Vernon really didn’t want this vile stuff in his mouth. However, it seems he has no choice. Well aware of the dangers of the liquid to humans, he ensured he only held enough in his mouth for him to safely transfer to Geralt. Gentle hands pressed against certain pressure points on the man’s jaw and he placed his lips over Geralt’s. He tried hard not to think on how soft Geralt’s lips were. 

Perhaps out of reflex or an unconscious need to survive, Geralt’s throat worked as it swallowed the much-needed elixir and Vernon repeated his action until the vial was empty. Luckily, Geralt had a small bottle of water in his satchel and the man rinsed his mouth and spat out the remnants. Hopefully, he had gotten rid of all the liquid.

Voices shouted around him and he recognized them as Ves’ and Hortensio’s. 

“Roche!” Ves clambered quickly down to them and her face paled considerably at the sight of the dead monster as well as the heavily injured witcher. 

“Is he?” Of course, she had to ask. Geralt looked more dead than alive at this point.

“He’s alive,” Vernon glanced briefly at the young lady, her clothes filthy with her sweat and dirt from the fight. “He needs medical attention. Have we a stretcher?”

“Only back at the camp, which is a few miles away. Shit, I didn’t think we’d need one.”

“Curse it, we need to do something,” Vernon knew that the witcher was heavy, too heavy for him to carry, even with Ves’ help.

It was then that he heard a soft whinny and from the trees out came Geralt’s horse. The blinders over part of her eyes prevented her from seeing the full picture but horses could still smell both blood and men. 

“Whose horse is that?” Ves asked and the blonde made an attempt to approach it. The brown mare shied away from her approach and Vernon knew that the horse was Geralt’s only chance of making it back to their camp in one piece. 

“It’s Roach,” Vernon still couldn’t believe his eyes at the sight of the brown horse. She was well-equipped with the best saddle, giving her the stamina to go many miles without having a need for rest. Perhaps she could go a few miles with two men on her back. 

Knowing that Roach was a cantankerous animal, he motioned for Ves and Hortensio to stay in position. ,em>She’s seen me before. 

Roche relaxed his posture, despite how stressful their current situation was, and he reached out a hand, palm facing up towards the mare. 

“It’s ok…It’s me, Vernon. I’m Geralt’s friend,” he implored the horse to come closer to him and there was a brief silence, of the horse not making a move either towards or even away from him and his unit. A painful few minutes passed until finally Roach chose to walk towards him, her ears relaxed and facing forwards. 

“Geralt needs our help,” he talked in a gentle tone to Roach. “Can you lean down and help me put him on you?”

“Vernon, we need to stop the bleeding before even getting him unto the horse,” Ves said. “Or he’s going to bleed out.”

“I’ve got some spare cloths that we could use,” Hortensio offered. “Just lift him a bit and raise his shirt. He’s lucky he’s only wearing light armor. Otherwise, this might be damn painful for him. Taking off heavy armor worsens the pain and the bleeding.”

“How’d you become so knowledgeable about this?” Ves asked out of curiosity. 

“Never mind that, Ves,” Vernon almost admonished her but he dialed down his angry tone.

He wasn’t angry at her. Just anxious at getting this over with and getting Geralt home, with him. Home…is that what the cave is now? Even in the midst of war and uncertainty, that  
dingy cavern was safe and hidden away from both monsters and the Scioa’tael, although the latter was the least of his worries now.

“Quickly,” Vernon replied to his helpers, “while he’s still unconscious.”

He did not wish for his friend to awaken during all this. It would only bring him more pain. Thankfully, with but a few pained moans in between cleaning and bandaging the numerous cuts on the witcher’s body, the witcher didn’t regain consciousness. Already, the stark white cloths reddened with the injured man’s blood and Ves’ eyes darted fearfully at his. 

He didn’t want to answer her question of Geralt’s chance of survival. Not yet, not until the witcher was cold and not breathing. 

“Help me put him on the horse, Hortensio. Ves, pick up everything you can see and keep watch,” Vernon’s commands were obeyed succinctly and wordlessly. 

The blonde soldier grabbed Geralt’s sacks of potions and weapons. They were heavy, even for metal swords, and she almost stumbled over at heaving them into her arms. Vernon would have laughed at the comical sight of Ves trying to gather two long weapons if he wasn’t so concerned about Geralt.

“By the gods, he’s heavier than he looks!” Hortensio grunted in effort. “You need to sit behind him, sir. Otherwise, him hanging over that horse of his will only worsen the bleeding. And I think he has cracked ribs too. Not sure if it’s from this fight or another.”

“Right,” Vernon graciously thanked Roach from not suddenly bolting at him climbing unexpectedly into her saddle. With a gentleness that belied the archer’s hands, which had killed so many men and elves, the archer carefully placed the silver-haired man into Vernon’s arms. Then, without trying to cause unnecessary jostling, both men maneuvered the legs to where one laid on each of the horse’s flanks. 

“Now, unto to our camp. Let’s pray to the gods that it’s a peaceful ride,” Vernon said and he made a “tsk” sound to Roach, whose ears flickered back to him before facing forwards. It took the horse a little time to stand up, now having to carry two men instead of her usual single witcher. 

“Let’s,” Hortensio agreed. “I’ve already signaled the other men to await us at camp.”

The archer then gave him a funny look, one at him and then once at the figure lying motionlessly against his body. 

“He a friend, sir?” The way the archer said _friend_ hinted at something more. 

“Yes,” Vernon sighed and he sincerely hoped that the archer didn’t press any more into his private matters. A sigh of relief escaped his chapped lips when the archer merely nodded in understanding before reaching out for his bow and nocking an arrow. 

Here, in the forests of Velen, you can never be too careful.


	3. Chapter 3

_It always started being in the dark and the cold._

_Voices whispered to him and shadows flitted around a growing light that began to glow in front of him._

_“Geralt of Rivia…monster…Butcher of Blaviken…” Stregobor’s unusually high-pitched tone held all the contempt it could for him. But none was worse than the stones being thrown at them, for being called a freak and a monster just after he saved the townspeople’s lives from Renfri’s men._

_The townspeople vanished into a lone figure that wore the Temerian crown. His smiling visage etched on that proud and weathered face. Another shadow. Geralt knew what was going to happen and he ran to the figure. Another man stood behind the smiling King…Letho. His bulky frame was unusually agile and Geralt tried to use Aard to knock the other witcher off his feet. But he was too late. A knife sliced across the King’s throat and Geralt helplessly watched the King be slaughtered as easily as you would any other man._

_“For you have royally failed to protect our King Foltest,” another voice. “But you’re going to help me gut the true murderer.”_

_Another scene, one that always brought true terror to the witcher._

_Letho holding Vernon hostage and slicing his throat the way same as he had done to King Foltest. The light fading from those soft brown eyes that was always quick to anger with anyone else and only softened when looking at Geralt. The bloody throat preventing the Temerian from saying what he always wanted to hear from him._

“Vernon!” 

Geralt’s eyes sprang open and he shot up only for a pair of hands to push him down on the shoulders. The hands weren’t necessary, however, as inexplicable pain shot through him and he cried out in agony. 

“Fuck…he’s awake…” Someone cursed nearby and a face swam into his watery vision. 

“Griffin, get the Commander!”

“Geralt…you’re safe…everything’s ok.” Ves’ blue eyes helped him focus not on the pain but on the beautiful face staring worriedly at his face, even for just a moment. His entire body felt like it was on fire, as if his skin was flayed and his nerves laid bare for torture. Ants seemed to be crawling on his chest and he attempted to clutch at where the sensation was coming from. 

Ves prevented him from doing so, her cold hands a seething brand on his own skin. Gods….why was everything so cold and so hot at the same time?

“Fuck! Why is he awake so soon?” Another voice cried out. Its baritone tones sent a slight tremor throughout his body. “Shit, he’s shaking! Is that damn herbalist still here?”

“Yes, but not for long. She was asked to see another patient.” Ves’ sharper tone caused another bolt of agony to rip through him.

Geralt groaned when Vernon firmly pushed him down. “I don’t ploughin’ care about other patients. Geralt’s more important. He’s a witcher. Tell her that. She might change her mind. Fuck, we’ll give her extra coin if need be.”

At first, Vernon looked like he was going to go and Geralt’s hand shot out, just to curl into a weak fist in Vernon’s blue gambeson. Only vaguely did Geralt notice that the man’s gambeson was missing its sleeves. 

“Geralt…it’s alright…you’re safe…” Vernon’s voice was impossibly gentle. It lacked the acerbic undertones in their initial conversations and Geralt sighed in relief, his hand loosening its grip in the other man’s now sleeveless top. 

“His fast metabolism is breaking down my herbal essences too fast for them to take effect,” another voice said. “He needs rest…”

A younger face came into his vision and he recognized her as the herbalist who was living just within a mile south of the Blue Stripes’ hideout. So, he must have made it to the cave. To safety. 

“Yes. I need to make it mix with white gull though. It should slow down his metabolism enough for the effect to take place. If that’s the case, he’ll sleep for a few days.”

“Whatever needs to be done, just do it. Please,” Vernon begged. _When did Vernon beg?_

He must have blacked out as moments later, a cup was pressed against his lips.

He trusted Vernon and swallowed the cloyingly sweet tea. While it didn’t immediately dull his pain, it brought warmth to his body and a heaviness in his mind took over, eventually sweeping away all of his senses. He hoped that his dreams would be more forgiving this time. 

_“Thank you, Geralt.”_

_It wasn’t Vernon who called out to him this time._

_“You did your best.” The Temerian crown sat handsomely on the man’s head, giving him a regal look to his aged form._

_“King Foltest…”_

_The King was holding his two children in his arms. “I’m finally with Adda and my two children. Tell Vernon that his dad would have been proud of him. That his dad died in my service before he could make it back it home.”_

“Geralt…”

Learning from the first time of sitting up too quickly, the witcher merely decided to open his eyes and he moaned as the light pierced them. The Temerian must have known about what caused him to groan in pain for he crouched immediately in front of the candle, the only light source in the Commander’s office.

“Where…” his throat was dry and he needed water. 

Vernon had already grabbed a jug of water and a strong arm wrapped around his shoulders to help him sit up. 

“Here,” Geralt grunted and eagerly drank the tepid liquid. It had a hint of cloves and valerian, possibly a mixture to help him sleep deeply through the pain that otherwise would have kept him awake.

“Easy, not too much all at once,” the man’s voice made him shiver and those dark eyes looked at him in concern. A calloused hand was placed on top of his forehead and Geralt moaned at the coolness of it.

“You’ve still a fever but not as high as it used to be. The herbalist made that mixture to help you sleep and keep the fever down.”

“Where are we?” Geralt gasped as Vernon lowered him back down and he was thankful for that tea again. The dull ache in his body no doubt would be sharper in intensity were it not for the numbed senses. For not for the first time, Geralt cursed his superior senses.

The smell, the taste, the hearing, the pain. It all ratched up in intensity ever since having become a witcher. Tit for tat as Dijkstra would say. Thank god sex was an entirely new field that ratched up in intensity, both his longing for human warmth and the touch involved.

“You’ve made it to the cave,” Vernon said as he lifted the wolf hide to cover Geralt’s bare chest. Geralt heard the Temerian’s heart beat increase a bit when he moaned and was a little surprised at the way Vernon’s cheeks blushed. _So maybe he would be interested…_

“The fiend?” Geralt’s voice still rasped a little but more from exhaustion than anything else. Fighting two fiends within a few days tended to wear him out more than usual. “Is it dead?”

“Yeah,” Vernon’s eyebrows came together in a minor frown. If the Temerian kept frowning every time he has to answer a question, it’s going to be a permanent expression on that handsome face. Geralt would rather see a different expression altogether and the thought would have shocked the witcher had he not come to a realization about the Temerian Commander earlier.

“It was just as well the fiend was there, actually,” Vernon stopped for a second and then further explained himself at the witcher’s puzzled look. “Nilfgaardian patrol attacked us while we were on our way from a supply run. They would have overtaken us were it not for the fiend. Then you came, like a bloody silver knight.”

“Silver knight huh?”

“Yes. You truly were a beacon of light in the dark. That ploughin’ beast would have killed us all if you hadn’t entered the fray. I didn’t survive the horrors of war just to be gutted by a beast.”

“It’s strange that the fiend was out here,” Geralt wanted to continue his talk but he couldn’t fight the sleep that began to overtake him again. He really was getting tired of this.

Vernon chuckled and gifted him that unique warm smile, one reserved for him apparently. “Sleep, Geralt. We can continue chatting once you’re not seeing through your eyelids half the time.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! The final chapter of a one-shot (supposed to be). 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it.
> 
> I hope Vernon is not too OOC but it is what is. :D
> 
> I do take prompts (no rape pls or non-con) so feel free to leave comments.

The next time Geralt had awaken, it was very early into the morning. The weak moonlight had managed to find its way into the Temerian Army’s new home and, Geralt, ever the light sleeper, immediately jolted up awake, only to feel a slight weight on his chest.

Geralt’s eyes widened at the sight of an unruly mop of brown hair. Short strands had fallen across the man’s closed eyes, lending the sleeping person a more youthful appearance.

Somehow, in sleep, Vernon looked several years younger already but Geralt could tell that the endless conflict with Nilfgaard had taken a heavy toll. Even in deep slumber, the witcher could see a certain tightness at the corners of the eyes, the way a hand clenches into a fist near his side before relaxing again.

Soft breaths tickled the hairs on his chest and the witcher would have groaned in pleasure were it not for the slight predicament he found himself in. His body felt achy and he had a strong urge to relieve himself. However, he’d have to wake up Vernon to do so and it pained him that he may never get to see this side of Roche again.

“Roche…” Geralt whispered and he laid a hand on the man’s hair, marveling at how soft it was. There was an underlying unique smell of pinewood and metal and Geralt had a brief thought if that smell was everywhere or just in the hair.

The man stirred a little bit, the eyes fluttering open, but he didn’t really move.  
“Vernon…” Geralt said a little louder and he almost fancied the idea of moving just enough to get up without waking up the Temerian.

He must have been so focused on trying not to wake up Vernon that he failed to hear someone walking into the room, to smell that unique odor of a woman.

“Geralt!” Ves whispered and she hurried to his side, her small hands pushing the witcher down. Even weakened as he was, the blonde women could not hope to be stronger than Geralt. Instead, she just sighed and was just about to move her Commander to a chair when a pale hand stopped her.

“Leave him be,” Geralt’s voice was hoarse from several days of convalescing without much food or water.

“You need to relieve yourself, Geralt? I can get Hortensio if you’d like,” she rose to a standing position and was just about to shout for help when the witcher, as painful as it was, managed to lean against the wall, his breaths coming out in small pants and pained gasps. The potions and having fought two fiends within the same week had left him feeling exhausted right to his bones. Fighting one fiend often leaves him bed-ridden for several days. Fighting two made him wish he was dead after all.

“Nnn…it’s ok…I can manage,” Geralt managed to whisper and he ignored Ves’ offer to help him get out of the small alcove that was Vernon’s “room.” Mostly it was out of a kindness to Ves for the lady had no real strength of supporting a superhuman by herself.

She must have said something to one of the men in camp for a pair of lads, clad in the blues of their country colours, came upon him, each taking an arm over their shoulders.

“It’s…it’s really ok,” Geralt protested albeit weakly but he was inwardly grateful that help was given. His legs trembled just leaning against the wall.

With great care, the Temerian lads led Geralt to outside and turned their backs to him to give him a sense of privacy. They kept quiet, letting the witcher relieve himself of a few days’ worth of urine.

“How many days has it been?” Geralt asked as he adjusted himself appropriately.

One of the lads, a brunette, peered at the silver-haired man, possibly trying to see his face in the dark and failing.

“It’s been five days since we got here.”

_Five days huh?_

He needs to stop resting then. Otherwise atrophy would set in and delay his recovery time even more.

“Did everyone make it back?” Geralt couldn’t remember if all the Temerians that were with Roche made it to camp. He was too preoccupied trying to save his friend.

“Yeah, thanks to you. Live and get to fight the ploughin’ Nilfgaardians on another day.”

_Yeah, the Nilfgaardians. The same one ruled by an emperor who charged me to find Ciri._ He wasn’t sure if Emhyr would approve him killing Nilfgaardian soldiers. What he was certain of was that he’d kill anyone who set out to harm his friends, especially Roche.

“Ready, sir witcher?” One of his guides asked, a blonde with blue eyes.

“Griffin, Fletcher, get back to your posts,” someone interrupted them and both lads straightened up in the presence of their superior. “I’ve got Geralt.”

“Yes, sir,” the two said in perfect unison and with a fist on their chests, the two lads bowed slightly and walked away into the cave, leaving Geralt and Vernon on their own.

Vernon always had impeccable timing and the man swiftly grabbed a hold of Geralt’s arm, not even giving him a chance to protest.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” Vernon’s voice was almost accusatory. Geralt had a snark comment to bite back but the genuine concern in those dark-brown eyes made him swallow his words. Instead, the witcher stayed silent.

“You usually have a smartass comment at the ready, Geralt. That fiend must have really walloped you in the head.”

The pair had slowly made their way back to Vernon’s little area and Geralt was actually grateful to see a cot for a chance, even if it was made out of straw.

“Two fiends actually,” Geralt groaned when the man helped him lay down on the cot and pulled up the blanket.

“What? Two fiends?”

A cool hand was pressed against his forehead and Geralt let out a satisfied sound.

“Your fever finally went down,” Vernon said and then mumbled, “thank the gods.”

“What was that?” Geralt heard perfectly well but he wanted to hear that deep voice once more before duty eventually had to pull him away.

“Nothing,” Vernon’s cheeks coloured a little bit and, really, that just made him even more endearing to the witcher. “How are you feeling? Better?”

Honestly, he wanted to sleep a whole week, without anyone bothering him for contracts. But Ciri would never be found if he stayed in bed the whole time.

As Vernon was talking, the Temerian’s fingers trailed over his chest, lifting an old gauze to reveal what should have been a nasty gash but was instead a purplish bruise.

“Witchers heal fast, remember?” Geralt was certain that Vernon should have known this.

Their travels following the murder of King Foltest had them fighting enemies and looking after one another, which meant nursing each other’s wounds and keeping sentinel over the dark nights to let the other man recover. It was usually Vernon that Geralt had to take care of, knowing that the man was just a man. Flesh still split, still bled when it clashed with the sharp bite of steel. Only occasionally did Geralt need aide from the Temerian and it was just for a few days or so.

“I remember,” Vernon whispered softly and it sounded as if he was talking more to himself rather than Geralt. “That bloody curse with King Henselt,”

“Ugh…” Geralt did not want to recall that awful place, where specters of dead men fought endlessly. Any other man would have died after being possessed once and the witcher let the specter control his body thrice.

“I found you on the fields, not Dandelion.”

“What? Dandelion-“

“He helped me carry you. How else did you think you got to safety?”

“Huh…I thought Dandelion was leaving something out.”

“No idea why. Whatever you did to save King Henselt had you bed-ridden for at least several days. I thought-“

Vernon stopped for a second and he stared down at Geralt’s bandaged chest, as if seeing something else.

Geralt laid a hand on the man’s shoulder and Vernon looked up, something undecipherable in his eyes. The common folk tales of witchers being emotionless were unfairly inaccurate. Witchers feel very strongly but they had learned to keep it down, keep it tight. After all, the Path was lonely and violent. It would do no good to be on that Path, wearing your heart on your sleeve.  


“Vernon, I-“

“No, let me say my piece,” Vernon’s eyes were still wet as he continued.

“You…you looked dead. You didn’t move, didn’t even say anything. You just laid there. There was no blood on you, nothing that could have explained your condition. I wanted to be there when you woke up but a mission, always a ploughin’ mission, had to be accomplished. I left you, not knowing if you were going to wake up.”

Vernon’s hand had stopped fidgeting with the bandage, just merely laying there on top of Geralt’s heart. Geralt gently covered it with his, marveling that Vernon’s just fit within his palm.

“I’m still here, Vernon,” Geralt said in a rough voice. The witcher noticed that during their conversation Vernon had come a lot closer to him. Or was it him pulling himself closer to the other man?

The man fixed his gaze at him, those brown eyes searching for something in his. Another hand, calloused and worn from the daily handling a heavy blade, brushed against his cheek. His breathing grew heavier and heavier and the room seemed to grow hotter by the minute.  


“And when you’re not? The Path seems lonely and short-lived,” Vernon’s voice quietened and the man’s eyes glistened with unspoken emotions.

“It’s…less painful that way.” It was true. Witchers never died in bed. Instead they lived lonely lives, unwelcomed by the people they worked to save.

“It doesn’t have to be lonely at least,” Vernon’s voice whispered and Geralt could feel his heart pounding loudly in his chest. Was it his that raced so fast or maybe Vernon’s? He couldn’t tell.

Instead, he licked his lips, dried and chapped from the dry air of the cavern they were in. Vernon’s dark eyes followed the movement and then, before he could say something, those soft lips pressed against his own.

“Vernon…” Geralt started to say and a hot tongue pressed against his own, sparking heat and a longing that had been repressed for so long. He clutched at the man’s shoulders, his hands gripping into the folds of the gambeson. Never had he felt this much before. Even with Yen. It seemed as if this right here, this precious moment, was more real than all the dalliances he had with his previous partners, including Yennefer.

Deft fingers trailed down his neck, caressing what skin was available to his partner. Geralt hissed as they brushed lightly against an exposed nipple and he unwittingly let out a quiet gasp when Vernon nipped at his ear.

“Nng…V-Vernon…”

“I forgot how sensitive witchers are. Your sense of smell, hearing, touch – it all must be ten times more than that of normal man.”

“A thousand times…” Geralt said and another soft gasp escaped him as Vernon nipped underneath his ear, right at the jugular. Normally, the witcher would balk at someone teething him there but the man had his way with knowing what buttons to press and by how much.

Light teasing touches were more effective to him than rough handling because it all ended up with him wanting more.

He wanted to return the caresses but he didn’t have enough strength in his arms to move much. His hands clawed uselessly against Vernon’s clothed chest and Vernon’s chest vibrated with a low chuckle from the man.

“Let me take care of you tonight,” Vernon’s words sent another tremor throughout his body and Geralt shuddered at a hot tongue licking his nipple, a knee weaving its way between his legs.

A soft ache stirred deep in his loins at the contact and Geralt let out an undignified whimper when Vernon let his fingers brush delicately against his clothed erection.

“Gods…” Vernon breathed against his neck. “It’s like you haven’t been touched in a while.”

“…I…”

“Haven’t you laid with any of your sorceresses or maybe even that healer from Oxenfurt?”

“No, not for…” Geralt really didn’t want to tell Vernon how long it’s been.

How he was unconsciously holding out for someone he could truly trust. While he loved Triss and Yennefer, it was more platonic and he was never sure if they had put him under a spell during their romantic escapades.

Shani, she was too innocent and she deserved more than an aging witcher who might not even survive the next day or week of being on the Path.

But Vernon…it just felt right being here, as injured as he was and still recovering on a bed that smelled so wonderfully of human musk and sweat. Even his own body odor couldn’t cover up that delectable scent of leather, oil and pinewood that seeped from its usual occupant.

A hand gently tapped his cheek and Geralt’s eyes opened to gaze at the man in question. When did he close his eyes?

“Hey…you all right? We don’t have to do this right now.” Gods, the way he said right now…  
“Yeah, I’m fine. Had sex in worse conditions than this,” Geralt wanted to laugh it off but the dull ache in his arms and legs made him moan instead.

“Shit…I shouldn’t,” Vernon began and he started to pull away. Already Geralt missed the warmth of his friend and a hand shot out to grasp the front of that annoyingly blue gambeson.

“Don’t you dare leave me like this,” Geralt growled and, without thinking of possible consequences, kissed Vernon. He poured all the deep longing, the repressed desire of wanting to be with him, into the heated kiss and Geralt gasped slightly at Vernon’s hand firmly clasping his erection again.

A slick tongue swept past his lips and brushed against his own, which was all too eager to come out and dance with its respective partner.

Soft gasps and pants echoed in the chamber and Geralt idly wondered if his men could hear them. The cave was open and the cramped quarters didn’t help either.

“My men know better than to stick around during moments like these,” Vernon whispered against his collarbone. “Though it’s few and far in between.”

“…how often…?” Geralt couldn’t fault Roche for being a man. After all, even in dire times such as these, men still needed an outlet for their passion, their frustration perhaps at what destiny may have wrought for them.

“Not anymore. Now shhh,” a lick here and a sharp nip at a sensitive nipple had Geralt gasping softly, his hand clutching at Vernon’s head. “If you’re talking, it must mean I’m not taking care of you right.”

And Vernon followed through on his dark promise.

Skilled hands knew exactly where to press gently and where to tug with a little force behind them. The smell of the other man’s arousal increased to the point where it drowned out all other scents and Geralt wouldn’t have it any other way.

With an insistent nudge at the hipbones, Geralt instinctively raised his hips and he groaned at the cool air hitting his loins. His erection jerked slightly when soft lips pressed lightly against the tip and Geralt released a low moan of Vernon’s name when he was swallowed whole.

“Fu—fuck…” Geralt’s hands tugged at Vernon’s brown hair and his legs trembled as they laid over the man’s still clothed shoulders. He had to keep quiet and he stifled his moans with a hand, almost biting into it when Vernon suck at the tip before leaving a trail of heat from the tip to the underside of his cock.

“It’s a good thing the healer and I bathed your body while you were passed out from fever.”

“….nngg….ahh…w-why?”

“While we have oil, it’s not going to be enough. Here, put this in your mouth for now.”

Geralt was given a small wad of cloth and he realized that it was a clean strip cut from the man’s sleeves. Gods….did Vernon realize what he had done? 

Nodding in agreement, he put the small wad of cloth between his teeth and was glad to do so when slick heat brushed against his sack only to travel down and down to where a place no man or lady had gone before. Not even Yennefer dared to do this, although he had done it plenty to her. He always wondered why she cried out like a whore almost and the sounds emitting out of him would have made him blush furiously were he a normal human.

“Don’t move your arms, all right? You’re still injured and I don’t want you overdoing it.”  
So caring and the tenderness in Vernon’s eyes forced Geralt to keep his eyes open. Geralt reached out to him, causing the other man to sigh heavily. A firm hand grasped his wrists and held them tight against the edge of the cot. “You move these and I’ll stop.”

It was a command and Geralt would have lied if it didn’t bring a shiver of arousal rushing through him. Liquid gently seeped out of his tip and Vernon smirked at his reaction.

“Hmm. It seems you get off at being told what to do. We’ll have to explore that later, when you’re fully healed.”

“Nnn….ahh…” Geralt panted, frustrated at not being touched anymore.

“Trust me, wolf,” Vernon’s eyes darkened with passion and a heated promise. “You’ll be howling soon enough, even with my sleeve in your mouth.”

Soon enough, the only sounds that could be heard were his own, stifled as they could be, and Vernon’s own low moans at hearing him. Geralt knew he sounded like a cheap whore in a brothel but Vernon just kept going, slicking him in that place. His tongue pierced him relentlessly and his thighs trembled in the man’s strong grip.

Iron hands clasped at him tightly, holding him in place. A pressure was building and it almost hurt at how powerful it grew and grew until finally, with a finger stretching him alongside the tongue, he cried out, the wave cresting over him with an unforgiving force.

A pungent smell drifted his olfactory senses and Geralt panted, knowing that he came on his own stomach.

“Still hard,” Vernon genuinely looked surprised at how hard Geralt’s shaft was, even after his first orgasm.

_Witchers have a lot of stamina._ Geralt wanted to say but Vernon understood and the man, gods, ducked down, a tongue gently lapping up his spilt offering on his stomach and chest. If Vernon kept this up, he was going to come again.

A knowing smirk told him that it was indeed Vernon’s intent and Geralt wanted to grasp at him, to wrap his arms around the solid weight lying on top of him. But he was told to keep his hands above him and who was he to disobey the Commander of the Blue Stripes?

He was rewarded for his obedience when the man swallowed him whole again, a low moan vibrating through his cock.

Cool slick fingers appeared at his entrance and he grunted at the painful pressure of two fingers scissoring deep inside.

“Geralt…you’re so tight…don’t’ tell me…”

He closed his eyes and nodded, not really trusting himself to spit out the cloth to answer without sounding like a complete whore.

“My gods…you’re a gift…” Vernon gifted him that warm smile and the man leaned forward, his hands urging Geralt to place his thighs around his waist. Whatever protests his body might have, they were swept away by the force that was Vernon Roche.

As Vernon devastated his senses with his caresses, the heated kisses pressed against his neck, Geralt was only slightly aware of a hardness pressing against his entrance.

He must have had a worried look on his face for the man cupped his cheek before leaning in for another deep kiss, perhaps hoping to distract him long enough for him to press inside him.

No amount of preparation that Vernon had lavishly given him before could prepare him for the shock of being entered and he let out a muffled scream.

“Sshh…relax…please…breath with me, ok?” Vernon told him. “Focus on my breathing.”  
And Geralt did. He heard the man inhale and exhale and followed his rhythm, his body slowly adjusting to the invasive hardness. Soon, agonized grunts turned into soft moans and then little whimpers as deft fingers fluttered along his ignored cock.

His body protested against the gentle rocking of Vernon pushing into him, the dull ache from his injuries coming back to flow into his exhausted muscles. Geralt pushed his own tiredness aside. He wanted to finish this with Vernon, wanted to see what Vernon’s face would look like when experiencing his own orgasm.

He didn’t have to wait as Vernon’s thrusts became choppy at best but still driving deeper and deeper until finally, Geralt wailed at Vernon hitting against that hidden spot without mercy and without stopping. White stars appeared behind amber eyes until they no longer could see the focused but pleased expression on the Temerian’s tanned face.

Some moments must have passed as Geralt nearly jumped at the cold sensation of rough cotton being brushed against his hardness, softened and no longer seeping fluids. Someone was whispering something and it took the witcher a few minutes to realize that Vernon was speaking to him in a gentle tone. 

“We’ll talk about this tomorrow. I shouldn’t have pressed you so hard.”

A twinge of guilt coloured the man’s tone and Geralt tried to smile and say something ridiculous about Vernon mother-henning him.

A chaste kiss, but no less passionate, was pressed against his lips and Geralt’s cock twitched weakly with arousal.

“As much as I wish to continue this, you’re more tired than aroused. Sleep, Geralt. I’ll stay with you for the night.”

Vernon managed to find some space on the cot to lie beside him and he pulled over the wolf’s hide blanket, covering Geralt’s naked body. The Temerian made a soft sound, lips pressing against his ear, before wrapping his arm around Geralt’s midsection, sweaty and smelling of sex.

_Yeah…talking sounds good._ Maybe they can clear up whatever this was.

With a satisfied exhale, Geralt hummed and let his mind drift off into the soft darkness, where nightmares were held at bay by Vernon’s presence.


End file.
